


les petites morts

by softnow



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Mini fics, a collection of smut for your viewing pleasure, prompt fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-06-26 04:47:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15656064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softnow/pseuds/softnow
Summary: a collection of explicit ficlets based on tumblr prompts.





	1. dirty talk

She’s belly-down on sun-soaked skin-slicked leather and she loves it like this. Loves him like this. Feral, his teeth in her shoulder and his fist in her hair, his thighs bracketing hers. She’s so fucking full she can taste it.

“You’re so— _god_ —you’re so fucking hot,” he groans, lifting nearly all of the way out before slamming back in and she can’t keep her eyes open because he’s splitting her in the best, best way. “ _Fuck_ , I love fucking you. You’re so—” Slam. “—fucking—” Slam. “—wet for me, Scully, Christ. You like it, don’t you? Like it when I fuck you?”

She’s cock-drunk and wild with it, feline in the arch of her back and the sharp little mewls pulling from her throat. She likes it, god, she likes it, but she can’t remember how to speak so she tells him with a quick, hard pulse around his dick. A moan—his, she thinks, maybe hers—and he tugs her head back, licks salt from her neck.

“Could do this all damn day,” he rasps. “Fuck your sweet little pussy just—like— _this_.” He bottoms out and swivels his hips, letting her feel every rigid, delicious inch. “Gonna fuck this pussy ‘til you can’t fucking walk, baby, shit, s’that what you want? Want me to fuck you stupid?” 

He lifts himself up with a hand to the couch, changing the angle, grinding so deep she could cry. 

“Oh,” she pants. “Oh, oh, oh.”

“Shit,  _ye-e-eah._ God, I wish you could— _ung_ —could see yourself right now, Scully, you’re so fucking pretty when I—yeah, touch yourself, baby, Jesus,” he chokes when she snakes a hand between her thighs, then pounds into her so hard she nearly loses her grip. “So fucking  _pretty_  on my cock, so fucking  _good_ ,  _fuck_.”

“Please,” she moans, desperate, not even caring that she sounds like one of those women on the tapes he doesn’t watch anymore, because he’s pounding her into his couch and she’s so damn  _close_ and it’s gonna be so damn good. “ _Please.”_

“Love it when you beg for me. Such a good girl, Scully, so fucking good for me.” And then he’s back, all of his weight crushing her into the cushions, the fist in her hair and his mouth at her ear and his cock sliding deep deep deep. “Gonna make you come so fucking hard, baby, give it to me. That’s—ah, fuck—that’s it. I want it, baby, let me have it. Come for me.”

And like a well-trained animal, eager to perform and get her treat, she does. Oh, she does. It rips through her so hot and fast and good, and she thinks she screams, but she’s not sure, because everything goes black for a second and when she comes to, Mulder’s still on top of her, holding her now, gathering her against him, whispering  _Scully_  and  _love you_  and  _jesus fuck thank you_. 

Peeling herself come-slicked and sweaty from the leather is gonna hurt, but later, she decides, bedding down against the soft hair on his chest. Much, much later. And then… She smiles, halfway to sleep. And then maybe  _she’ll_  talk to  _him_.


	2. caught in the act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mulder & scully get it on at bill & tara's house at christmas.

This is without a doubt the worst thing she’s ever let him talk her into. Her entire family’s downstairs putting the finishing touches on Christmas dinner, and here she is, splayed open on her brother’s guest bed, knees up to her shoulders, shirt and bra up to her chin, and her partner’s cock, hard and heavy, sliding between her thighs. And if he wasn’t giving it to her so good, maybe she’d find the strength to care.

“God, Scully, you feel that?” He presses on the backs of her legs, slams home, and she feels it all right. Oh, does she feel it. “I musta— _ah_ —been a very good boy this year.”

“Shh.” Her hands slip beneath his rucked-up sweater, nails deep into his shoulder blades. “Gotta be  _quiet._ ”

“Quiet,” he pants. “Yeah, okay. Quiet. How’s this for quiet?”

And fuck, she shouldn’t have said anything, because this is Mulder. Mulder, who never backs down from a challenge. Mulder, who can make anything a challenge. He pulls out and slicks his cock up, down, up, down, riding the ridge of himself over her throbbing clit before thrusting back into her so hard and fast she has to sink her teeth into his cable-knit-covered bicep to hold back the sounds threatening to spill from her lips.

“Shh,” he hisses, mocking, and nips her earlobe. “Quiet, baby. But don’t worry. As soon as we’re home, I’m gonna fuck you so long and hard you’re gonna make noises you’ve never made befo—”

“Dana? Mulder?” Tara’s voice floats through the wall, close, so close, and they freeze, stunned, too stupid to move.

It’s like slow motion, the doorknob turning, the door creeping open.

“Dinner’s rea—”

A beat. The most mortifying beat of Scully’s life. She locks eyes with her sister-in-law, all too aware that she’s still bent double, jeans dangling off one foot, Mulder’s cock half inside her.

Then, a flurry of motion. Tara throws a hand up, covering her eyes, her stricken face, backs out of the room.

“Oh god! Oh my god! I’m so sor— You guys just— I—”

The door thunks closed and Scully somehow finds the strength to breathe. She feels seventeen again, caught with her hand down Roger Durham’s pants.

“Shit,” Mulder groans, dropping his face into the curve of her shoulder. “We’re never gonna be invited back.”

He sounds horrified, but he’s still pipe-thick and hot between her legs. Well. She’s always suspected a bit of an exhibitionist streak.

“Your brother’s gonna kick my  _ass._ ”

Scully bites her lip and runs her fingers through his hair. She doesn’t mention the conversations she’s had with Tara, the ones that started something like  _I know what Bill thinks, but._  It’s his fault they’re in this mess; he deserves to suffer a little. But just a little.

“Well then.” She rocks her hips, slipping him in another few inches. “I guess you better live like you’re dying.”

(The turkey’s half gone by the time they make it to the table. Tara doesn’t say a word.)


	3. jealousy and possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mulder goes a little cro magnon. (but just a little.)

“Mulder, please.”

Her hands in his hair, her nipple in his mouth. It’s been hours, days. Centuries, maybe. She’s lost in it, desperate, wound past tight and into something new, something she’s never felt before.

“Mm.” He bites her nipple, tugs, releases it with a pop. They both watch it bounce. “You begging now, Scully? Gonna beg for it?”

His hand between her thighs, wet wet wet. Two fingers in, two fingers out. Circle her clit.

She bites her lip, tosses her head on the pillow, arches her hips to get closer. He backs away, petting, gentle gentle gentle. Her body hums, his fine-tuned instrument aching to be played.

“Please.”

“I like it when you beg.” His tongue on her stomach moving up up up. “Do it again.”

“Mulder.” 

He strokes her clit with his ring finger, the weakest finger, pressure so light it hurts.

“Close…” He licks her nipple again, once, broad-tongued and slack-mouthed, his eyes locked with hers.

“Stop teasing me so much.” There’s no authority left in her voice, only need.

“I don’t know…” Three fingers in this time, so good, so good. “You seem to be enjoying it. Look, Scully. Look how wet you are.”

Three fingers out, up to her mouth, tracing, asking entrance.

“Taste it.” His mouth on her neck, breath in her ear. Low, close. “Tell me how you taste.”

She moans. Three fingers in. He strokes her tongue and she sucks herself down. Like spring, like ocean water, like loamy soil.

She manages, “Good.”

“That’s right.” His teeth at her throat, a gentle beast. “You taste so good for me. You  _feel_  so good for me. You feel so fucking good right now, don’t you? I wanna hear you.”

Two fingers in, back between her legs. Curling curling curling.

“Yes,” she gasps. “Yes, so good, yes.”

He nuzzles her breast, stubble rough on the spit-slicked peak.

“Can anyone else make you feel this good? Huh? Could  _he_  make you feel this good? Make you this fucking wet?”

_He_ , the local coroner. Weak-chinned and amiable. He flirted with her over intestines. She flirted back, just a little. Just harmless. Thinking of too-recent women with brown hair and long legs and dogs for days. A taste of his own medicine. She’s tasting it now.

“Answer me.” Two fingers out again, his whole hand curving around her, holding her still, letting her drip into his palm. She needs to grind, needs relief, needs needs needs, but he presses her down. “Tell me, Scully.”

“No,” she chokes. “No— I—  _Please._ ”

A growl, low in his throat, satisfied. Two large hands on her thighs, spreading her wide.

“That’s it. That’s my girl.” His swollen cock head on her clit, bump bump bumping. She could come from this. “You’re so hot for me.”

“ _Yes._ ”

His cock sliding down, parting her, sliding back up. Fucking without fucking. It feels so good. It feels like torture.

“You need it, don’t you? Need it bad.”

Cocky bastard. He knows. Of course he knows. She says it anyway, because she’s high on the wet-slick sounds between her legs.  _Yes._

He nudges inside. One inch, two. She could cry. It’s euphoria. He’s right. She needs it so bad. Then he’s gone again, grinding himself on her clit.

“Is this mine, Scully? S’this my pussy?” 

Her eyes fly open and he’s looming large above her, eyes dark, all pupil. 

Thrust, grind. He tweaks a nipple. “Is it?”

She should smack him. Throw him off, show him what she thinks of the caveman act. But he’s rubbing at her entrance again, light light light, holding her hips down so she can’t take him and she needs it. She  _needs_  it.

A whimper. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

She hates him. She needs him.

“Yes,” exhaled on air. “It’s yours.”

“What’s mine?” In. Just the tip. Back out. Fuck you fuck you fuck me. “Say it for me.”

She arches, thrashes. He holds her still.  _Say it._

“My pussy.”

He grins. Cat with the cream. Cat ate the canary.  _Please._

“No, Scully.” Kisses her once, lightly, barely there. Slams into her so hard her teeth rattle. “ _Mine._ ”


	4. post-en ami spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> does what it says on the tin.

He doesn’t say a word until after the Gunmen leave. He barely even looks at her. When he finally deigns to acknowledge her presence, she’s in the kitchen, rinsing the water glasses left on the counter, desperate for something to do with her hands.

He presses in close behind her, so close she can feel his heat through his clothes, can feel the frustration pouring off of him in waves. The sudden closeness is stifling, makes her feel like a small, nervous animal.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was?” he says, his mouth at her ear. “Do you have any fucking idea?”

“Mulder, I—”

She tries to turn, but he cages her in with his arms and presses her forward until the lip of the counter bites into her belly.

“He could have hurt you, Scully. He could have  _killed_  you.”

“I had to.”

“You had to.” He pushes against her a little more and she gasps when she feels him, hard and angry against her back. “You were stupid. Running off and not even telling me? Really, Scully? Is that how we do things?”

Her cheeks flame. Is that how we do things? Surely, surely he didn’t just ask that.

“You tell me,” she bites, wriggling against him. “You wrote the fucking  _book_  on how we do things.”

One hand curves around her shoulder, shoving her down to the counter beside the sink. The Formica is cold beneath her cheek, but he is hot. So hot.

“Uh-uh. Don’t turn this around on me, Scully.  _You’re_  the one who ran off. With fucking  _cancer man._  Shit. Is that how it’s gonna be now? You gonna just take off whenever you want with men like that? Men who could hurt you?”

He’s a brick wall on her back, an immovable force. She opens her mouth to protest, to tell him to get the fuck off of her, when she feels him scrabbling at the front of her jeans. Her words die in her throat.

“Is that what you like, huh? Like men who hurt you?” He shoves her pants and underwear down to her knees and she groans against the countertop. “You have no clue. No fucking clue how it felt, Scully. To know you’d run off with  _him._ ”

Fuck you, she mouths, her breath caught in her throat. Fuck you, you think I don’t know how it feels. Fuck you, you made me the expert on knowing how it feels.

He rubs the rough, tented front of his jeans against her bare ass and she, God help her, arches into it.

“I’m gonna make sure you know,” he says. “Make sure you remember next time you think about doing something like that again. You hear me? Your ass is going to be seven different shades of red after that little stunt.”

He pulls back, keeping her bent over with a rough hand at the base of her neck. He smooths his other hand over her ass before snatching it away and returning it with a sharp, resounding  _smack_. It hurts, burns, sends electric sparks straight to her clit.

She whimpers.

“You’re gonna think twice next time, Scully.” Another smack. Another whimper. “You’re not going to put yourself in  _danger_  without me. I’m your  _partner._  My job is to  _protect_  you.”

His hand lands again and she trembles. She can feel herself, hot and sticky, dripping down her thighs.

“Are you going to do it again?” When she doesn’t answer, he gives her another smack. His voice is dark, no-nonsense. “Answer me, Scully. Are you. Going to do it. Again?”

He comes down on her a fifth time, rougher, and she cries out, hands fisting on the counter.

“ _No._ ”

And then he’s there, chest to her back, holding her down, the wiry hair at his groin chafing her sore, stinging ass, and when did he get his pants down? But it doesn’t matter because he shoves himself into her so hard she goes up on her toes and it’s good, it’s good, it’s good.

After, they lie together on his couch, wrapped in that Aztec blanket, and he runs his hands over every inch of her, slowly, reverently soothing her abused flesh. 

He kisses her again and again and again, and when the night begins to wane, he gathers her to his chest and hides his face in her hair and confesses how scared, how absolutely petrified, he was. How easily he could have lost her. How he can’t even handle the thought.

She doesn’t apologize and neither does he, but next time, they both remember.


	5. all things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inevitable all things fic.
> 
> anon prompted: their first time in all things mulder says to Scully that he doesn’t have a condom but Scully tells him that it doesn’t matter ;)

In the end, he isn’t as surprised as he thought he might be. It was inevitable, him and her. This. Her small body slipping into his bed, slipping out of her clothes. It was only a matter of time.

She feels better than he ever thought possible. No amount of furtive, stolen touches could prepare him for this. She’s alive and hot and desperate in his arms, a compact tornado lifting him off solid ground. He pushes her onto her back and kisses her harder.

They touch. Oh, do they touch. And taste. And moan. It’s the best thing they’ve ever done, and he wonders how it took them so long to get here. She sighs and thrusts her hips against his face in a way that tells him she wonders, too. They’ve been idiots for years.

When she finally hauls him up her body, hands tight in his hair, thighs falling open for him, only then does he realize. It’s been so long. They expired, he explains. He threw them out. They can—he can— There’s a CVS two blocks away. Or they could just—tomorrow they could— She trembles beneath him, liquid and waiting. He’s never wanted to do the right thing less in his life.

It’s fine, she assures him at last. She’s seen his blood work. He’s seen hers. As for the other thing… A cloud passes over her face, the heat in her eyes dulling, and his heart breaks. The other thing. The thing they tried for so valiantly in every way but this. The thing that doesn’t matter now. The other thing.

Scully, he says. Scully Scully. And he kisses her, because there are no words adequate in this situation. They don’t make greeting cards for this. Nobody writes poems, writes songs for this. So he kisses her until she loosens, until she whispers now, whispers please.

He watches her face as he pushes inside, watches for signs of discomfort or regret or sadness. There is only love. So much love it threatens to suffocate him. Erotic asphyxiation indeed. Somehow he manages to hold on, ground himself in her, forget the past, pause the future. With only the moon and the shadows as their witness, they find a rhythm together in the now.


End file.
